The Snip

Just some Twittering after my haircut.

“Are you open?” I asked the lady havening a ciggy outside the salon.
“Yes, go in.” she said. #thesnip

I opened the door to find the salon empty. It’ll be only a minute and she will follow me in. #thesnip

Fag lady has cut my hair for several years now.
It’s a standing joke with friends, my haircut takes only two minutes tops. #thesnip

There’s no holiday chat.
I sit – she cuts – I pay. 2 mins and I’m out. #thesnip


So there I was in the empty salon, waiting, when out from the back came another lady.
“Take a seat” she said.
I obeyed. #thesnip

“Just a trim?” “Yes please” I said.
Now many of  you may know, I don’t have a lot of hair.. #thesnip

My eyes fall on a body art jewellery card for men on the counter in front of me. Oh, that’s new. #thesnip

Then wonder when cards of styptic pencils, combs and Brylcreme lost their customers. #thesnip

Two minutes have gone and she’s still cutting.  #thesnip

Five minutes I’m still in the chair, now I’m getting worried.
Still, no holiday chat – thank god. Just silence and snipping. #thesnip

Fag lady returned and glanced across. “You ok there?”
“Yeah” she says. #thesnip

I realise that she was spending rather more time on one side.
When you have little hair, the bit you have, you’re keen to keep. #thesnip

It is now apparent I look like a lop-sided turnip. Or an elderly throwback of an 80’s pop band.  #thesnip

Then the brush was zipped around my neck and  the cape was  off. #thesnip

Then mirror whipped behind my head. Zip zip “Is that ok for yer?” Err, what is there left to put right?  “That’s £7 please” #thesnip

Word blindness

I was eating my breakfast and musing over how I’ve become totally hooked on having brown sugar on my cornflakes. This unusual combination stemmed from having no white sugar in the house. Yes, I know, I’m a baker. It’s a case of cobbler’s children, right?

But I really have grown to love, and here’s the problem: Demerara on my morning cereal. Delicious!

I tried and tried to tweet this little nugget of nonsense, when I completely blanked. Every time I tried with my errant thumbs to get this little word into my Twitter ap,  it came up with a red wiggly line under it. What’s more, my iphone couldn’t even find a word close to what I wanted – DEMARERA , Demerera, Dem… no. I just couldn’t get it.  I mean, how can this possibly happen with so few letters to get wrong?

So who else will have these little moments? Or is it just me...

BREECH

The explosion from deep within the earth was shattering, the percussion slamming into their chests, staggering the inmates as they shuffled along. 

Resigned, they glanced at each other with incomprehension, rifle barrels pointing, threatening, moving them along the dimly lit shaft that opened into an area similar to a small underground station. 

The heat was oppressive and there was a strange undistinguishable but electric smell that stirred a sickening fear.

From a tunnel opening at the end of the platform, a huge hydraulic piston returned slowly past queuing prisoners and in a mechanically automated sequence, a squat, cylindrical carriage rolled alongside the platform from a siding on the other side of the track. With a low hiss the ram slowly returned, buffering the rear of the waiting car.

There was a murmur of disbelief, a whispered prayer.

A guard waved a scanner across each man, before pushing him into the car, another guard perched in glass sided cubicle at the side of the platform, wrote the result in a register. 

In defiance, one man stood up to his captor and asked what they were doing.

“It’s just a number.” The guard barked, violently forcing him into the crowded carriage.

The registrar gave a nod to the control room, “Fifty!”

In response, the ram pushed the carriage deep into the tunnel.

The lights dimmed. 

Their last sight was of the guards turning their backs and covering their ears.

The waiting room

The grandfather clock punctuates the afternoon air.  Every so often it misses, inexplicably, like the breath of a sleeping child; heightening my anxiety.

The loud receptionist behind her heavy oak desk takes calls and sorts files.

Is she so insensible to my concern?

My palms are wet.

I try to concentrate on a newspaper article, but find it impossible.

Dust particles dance lazily in the shaft of sunlight projected onto the expensive rug. Absent-mindedly, I draw a path in the nap with the toe of my shoe and then erase in a returning arc. The clock follows my lead and marks each pass.

Are all Harley Street consulting rooms like this?

My God, I’m so stupid. Wouldn’t my condition be the same elsewhere?

There are voices beyond the panelled door, a faint farewell.

A harsh electronic buzz makes me start.

I look up, the receptionist gives me a smile, ‘Mr. Smith will see you now.’

An inspired idea

A couple of weeks ago, some of my Twitter friends were discussing the forthcoming World Book Day, and out of this conversation came an inspired idea. Author, Nicola Morgan suggested that a complimentary initiative, a World Book Night could be embraced by many book loving people throughout the country and would benefit all links in the book chain: namely, the giver, because they would have the pleasure of shopping for a book, the author, agent, publisher, book shop and of course, ultimately, the reader. Nicola Blogged about it here on Help! I Need a Publisher!

 Many people on Twitter immediately saw the light and enthusiastically agreed that it would be a fantastic idea. The power of Twitter quickly drew it to the attention of the National press and even made Newsnight. (Unfortunately, Nicola’s main points she wanted to highlight were sadly obscured by bad editing)

 I am a baker and have nothing to do with the world of books, apart from being a passionate reader. And being a typical bloke I hate shopping, but must say, I very much enjoy book shopping. Consequently, I have thoroughly enjoyed taking part of the complementary World Book Night. Yes, I have cheated a little by already giving a book away, but only because I wouldn't see the recipient today.

I dropped into Holman's book shop, just a few doors away from my office and spent time browsing the shelves. It made me smile that there were a lot of books written by Twitter friends.  I made a selection and then discussed my plan to the lovely lady who runs the book department.  She helped me whittle down my choice and I ended up with Joanne Harris's 'Gentlemen and Players'.

 
I knew exactly who would receive this book (a member of my staff), and it made my day that she was delighted. Her daughter is also passionate about books, and went to school yesterday dressed as her favourite book character (a horse fairy).
My second book, Alan Bennett's 'The Uncommon Reader' is going to my good friend, who much to my annoyance, hardly ever reads for pleasure. I thought this slim volume would gently dig him in the ribs and get him started!
 
So well done Nicola Morgan, you have got me out of my office and into my book shop. I have enjoyed the giving, and also spotted a couple of Peter James books on the shelves (yet more purchases!). It's been a welcome and enjoyable initiative that I look forward to doing again.

My own hobby horse.

Some of you may already know, I'm a great lover of Laurence Sterne's works. Here is a video by Patrick Wildgust introducing us to Stene's house in Coxwold.

The Laurence Sterne Trust is an excellent website and I hope it whets your appetite to visit this lovely house, and to chat to Patrick. He has a wealth of knowledge on Sterne and enthuses everyone who goes.
I also suggest that anyone interested in Sterne, dips into this wonderful resource. The Tristram Shandy Web

Little cherubs - Kerbside literature

Imagine my surprise when I saw these little chaps from my office window.

Who do you suppose left this here and why?  Every single passer by stops and comments.  It really is a mystery. Fun though.